


(9. Swing) / It don't mean a thing if it ain't got that swing

by Mothfluff



Series: GO-ctober Prompts 2019 [9]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Gen, M/M, October Prompt Challenge, One Word Prompts, Sappy, Song Lyrics, oh god I wrote a song fic what is happening to me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-28 11:53:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20966129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mothfluff/pseuds/Mothfluff
Summary: My attempts at an October Challenge, basically using the original Inktober prompts for drabbles.(Each prompt will be posted as part of a series, not chapters, so I can add tags/characters/ratings/trigger warnings for each instead of the whole she-bang)Prompt 9 - Swing“There is some other music that I enjoy from time to time, to be honest.”“Put it on then! I don’t care if it’s ABBA’s greatest hits or anything, just put it on!”Aziraphale tutted again as he went over to the gramophone. He had very few records collected below it, but he knew it would play what he wanted it to play once he changed them.The scratch of the lifted needle and slow dim of the music as it teetered out into nothing caused Crowley to sigh with almost pleasure. Another scratch, another melody slowly pushing out through the horn into the room, and he sat up to stare over the back of the sofa.“Really?”“What is it now? Still don’t like it? You’re so fussy.”“No, it’s good, it’s just-”Crowley grinned, and Aziraphale had a hard time not returning the smile with a blush on his face.“I just never would’ve took you for a Swing-fan.”





	(9. Swing) / It don't mean a thing if it ain't got that swing

“Angel, I truly love you.” The whine in Crowley’s voice made it clear that while this was true, the sentence was only the beginning of a longer complaint. “I absolutely do. And I do admit that all these composers were brilliant and a true show of human capabilities.”

Aziraphale took a sip of wine, sinking down a bit more in his armchair, still a book in his hand. They’d barely begun their standard evening routine, and it was not yet time for Crowley to break the comfortable silence, convince him to give up the book and entice him over to the couch.

He waited. Nothing came. Apparently Crowley was not trying to flirt his way into their usual cuddly get-together, but was hoping for a more dramatic discussion.

“But?” He finally gave in.

“But if I have to listen to the same bloody Best Of Classics vinyl one more time, I will throw the whole gramophone out on the street. I don’t care how old it is and just how long you’ve been keeping it going. It will go out. And the vinyl will too.”

“Well.” Aziraphale put down the book and the wine, folding his hands over his belly, a glint in his eye that told Crowley he wasn’t giving up that easily. He wanted a discussion? He would get one. “I don’t think you need to stoop to such crass threats, my dear. I’d also add that it is very much your fault for giving me the record in the first place.”

“Yes, yes, I know, seed of its own destruction and all that bullshit-” “Really, dear!” “-not sorry. I know I gave you the blasted record, I didn’t expect you to play it for five weeks straight.”

It had been a joke in the first place, when Crowley had spotted the vinyl stand at the flea-market, bored out of his mind while Aziraphale was two stands down chatting over some books. Best Of Classics, from a modern viewpoint, was sure to lead Aziraphale into a huffy rant about how nobody even _knew_ about proper classics anymore, how that modern orchestra was barely touching on the brilliance of some of these compositions anyway, and all that. He’d get a laugh out of it, maybe put it on once or twice in the bookshop when the angel wasn’t looking his way, only to see him fluster up again.

He had not expected him to actually _like_ the damn thing.

“It is a very lovely record. It was nice of you to bring it over before it spent too much time in your car.”

“If I had known, I would’ve waited longer.”

Aziraphale tutted and very clearly decided not to mention the bitter irony of Crowley complaining about constantly having to listen to the same music.

“Please, angel, I beg you.” He turned on the sofa, one leg slumping onto to ground, an arm thrown theatrically over his head. “Anything else. Put on the Sound Of Music if you must, I don’t care. Just change the damn record.”

“Now you’re being rude.” But Aziraphale had gotten up at least, not on his way over to the gramophone yet, apparently only to the small bar to top up his wine. He slid his hand through Crowley’s hair as he went past, and earned himself a pleading look from under the arm, almost as good as his own plead-and-pout.

“There has to be some other music you’re willing to listen to, angel. Six thousands years of humans banging on anything that made noise, something must’ve caught your ear.”

Aziraphale took his time filling their glasses. (His had slowly been emptied in the past half hour, while Crowley’s had been downed almost before he’d completely sat down. The music had already been playing.) 

“There is some other music that I enjoy from time to time, to be honest.”

“Put it on then! I don’t care if it’s ABBA’s greatest hits or anything, just put it on!”

Aziraphale tutted again as he went over to the gramophone. He had very few records collected below it, but he knew it would play what he wanted it to play once he changed them.

The scratch of the lifted needle and slow dim of the music as it teetered out into nothing caused Crowley to sigh with almost pleasure. Another scratch, another melody slowly pushing out through the horn into the room, and he sat up to stare over the back of the sofa.

“Really?”

“What is it now? Still don’t like it? You’re so fussy.”

“No, it’s good, it’s just-”

Crowley grinned, and Aziraphale had a hard time not returning the smile with a blush on his face.

“I just never would’ve took _you_ for a Swing-fan.”

“I admit it’s a bit different from my usual tastes.” He said as he handed the wine glass over to Crowley, sitting down on the couch beside him. “But then again, not so much. It’s still a proper band playing, at least, not like these modern songs all made on computers.”

Crowley hid his fond smile behind a sip as Frank Sinatra crooned fully in the background now.

“I guess. But I would’ve more expected you to be shocked by the chaotic dancing. Guess you prefer the slower numbers?”

“Oh, but the dancing is lovely! Well, people might think it chaotic at first glance, but if you really look at it, it’s very well choreographed. Almost reminds me of a good gavotte, a bit faster, but still.”

Crowley smiled fully now, and leant over to put his arm behind Aziraphale’s shoulder, who cuddled closer immediately.

“Afraid I can’t offer to dance either with you, angel. Learning routines is not really my thing.”

“I wouldn’t dare try it, love. Those swinging moves seem a bit too flighty even for winged people.” Aziraphale giggled, his head resting against the nook of Crowley’s neck. “It’s just as fine to sit and listen. That’s one thing the classics are missing sometimes – the lovely lyrics.”

Frank Sinatra was still crooning.

_Whether near to me or far_

_No matter, darling where you are_

_I think of you_

_Night and day_

“Oh, of course.” Crowley was trying not to laugh out of embarrassment. “You’d like it sappy.”

“Shush.” Aziraphale petted his leg.

_Night and day_  
_Under the hide of me_  
_ There’s an oh such a hungry_  
_ Yearnin’ burnin’ inside of me_  
_ And it’s torment won’t be through_  
_ ‘Til you let me spend my life_  
_ Making love to you_  
_ Day and night_  
_ Night and day_

“Maybe not so sappy, eh.” Now it was Aziraphale’s turn to hide the embarrassment as Crowley scratched along the back of his neck.

“Oh, really, just _shush_.” Aziraphale sat up to move the needle as the song came to an end, looking for the next one he liked.

“Can we skip Frank? He’s a bit played out, to be honest.” Crowley leaned against Aziraphale’s back, hunched over the gramophone. “Do you have any Ella Fitzgerald in that mix? She was a great gal, always loved her style.”

“Couldn’t say, but I’m sure you’ll find it with some help.”

Crowley snapped his fingers, and a slightly more scratchy and definitely slower tune began to start.

_I’m afraid some day you’ll leave me_  
_Saying, “Can’t we still be friends?”_  
_ If you go, you know you’ll grieve me_  
_ All in life on you depends_  
  
_ Am I guessing that you love me_  
_ Dreaming dreams of you in vain?_  
_ I’m confessing that I love you_  
_ Over again_

“Crowley.” Aziraphale’s eyes were filled with far too much emotion for the moment as he turned around to face him.

“Shut up.” Crowley tried to deflect. “I didn’t listen for the lyrics. Just wanted to put on something slow, you know…”

Aziraphale moved the needle again, placing it on exactly the right point, miraculously. Crowley watched in silence as his angel began to hum the melody, then opened his mouth and _sang _to him.

_Longer than always_  
_Is a long, long time._  
_ But far beyond forever,_  
_ You’ll be mine._  
_ I know I never lived before,_  
_ And my heart is very sure_  
_ No one else could love you more._

_More than the greatest love_  
_ The world has known,_  
_ This is the love_  
_ That I give to you,_  
_ Alone._

There were probably more lyrics, but Aziraphale had to stop singing as Crowley pulled him back down on the sofa, cradled his face in his hands and kissed him just as slow as the music played in the background. He smiled as they parted, not too far.

“So, sappy after all.”

“_Shush now, really, _my love. You love it.”

“I love _you_. Sappy swing music and boring classics and all.”

**Author's Note:**

> The songs are, in order: Frank Sinatra’s ‘Night and Day’, Ella Fitzgerald’s ‘I’m Confessin’ (That I Love You)‘ and Bobby Darin’s ‘More’.


End file.
